Bride in a Gilded Cage by Abby Green Page A

faithful. He had to concede that the memory of her had hovered over the shoulder of every other woman he’d been with since that night. He hadn’t met anyone who had touched some primal part of him as effortlessly as she had. The kiss tonight had just proved that they had explosive chemistry.
    He placed a hand on the glass and realised his heart was thumping hard. He was becoming aroused by little more than thinking of Isobel—not a usual effect of any woman who occupied his mind, no matter how seductive.
    He would have Isobel in his life, and in his bed, as his wife. And once she saw what he could provide for her she’d soon realise how futile it would be to fight him, or her fate. He smiled then. This marriage was beginning to look appealing on many more levels than he might ever have anticipated.
    The following day the weather seemed to be in sympathy with Isobel’s mood. Bleak and stormy. She was hollow eyed after a long, sleepless night. Her landlord had just been, and her ears were still ringing from his long rant because she was leaving with no notice. She’d had to fork over some precious cash to appease him, and she’d thought a little hysterically of the fact that within a short space of time she’d be the joint owner of a multi-million-dollar estate.
    In the lonely hours in the middle of the night she’d resigned herself to the fact that she had submit to this marriage. All avenues of escape were cut off. Curiously, as soon as she’d articulated the thought, a sense of calm had washed over her—not panic, as she’d expected. It was almost as if the fates were conspiring against her to say, You were never going to escape this.
    She’d called her dance partner José that morning, and without getting into the whole explanation had just said that she had to leave to go home indefinitely because of a family crisis. He’d been sad, but delighted to think he could take over her classes. It drove home to Isobel how tenuous her links to Paris really were, and that was disturbing. Why hadn’t she forged deeper links?
    Isobel knew a big part of her was still in shock, not really contemplating the reality that faced her.
    A peremptory knock sounded on the door. With her stomach in freefall she took a last glance around what had been her home for the best part of three years and went to the door.
    ‘You don’t have much baggage.’
    Still feeling exposed and raw from realising how easy it had been to walk away from three years of a life, Isobel was trying her best to block out the far too dominant male all butsprawled across the back seat of the luxury car as they were driven to the airport.
    She gritted her teeth and recalled his look of pure disbelief when she’d presented herself at the door of her apartment with one wheelie suitcase.
    ‘Not all of us need possessions and money and real estate to feel validated.’
    He chuckled softly, but the sound was anything but friendly. ‘Very noble. Are you afraid I’ll corrupt you with my debauched and materialistic ways?’
    Isobel just clamped her mouth shut and said nothing, watching as Paris gave way outside the car to the start of the gritty suburbs and then the anonymous motorway. She felt all at once clammy and sweaty, and her heart beat a restless tattoo in her chest which got worse every time Rafael made the minutest move. She hated to be so aware of him, and told herself it was only antipathy, not attraction.
    He was on the phone now, speaking rapidly in Spanish to someone. Isobel could only make out the gist of the conversation as he was talking about something she had no knowledge of: stocks and shares and bonds. But she was supremely aware of the hand nearest her, gesticulating the emphasis of his words, fingers long and graceful.
    He terminated the conversation just as they approached the airport and said, ‘We’re going straight to the plane. Customs will check your passport and documents there.’
    Before Isobel could draw breath, they’d been